Sunday, August 25, 2013

I post these essays on my blog a few weeks after each one is released. The publishers get first dibs. :)

If you would like to see "Neighborberry" in your local paper/website, please tell the editor to email me at kris@lslneighbors.com. Thanks so much!

Meet the neighbors before raccoons attack (released July 26, 2013)

By Kris Kolk

Would your neighbor come to your aid in an emergency? Helping
one another sounds good in theory, but one recent occasion prompted me to
reconsider this basic directive.

When I am unable to sleep, I obsess over thoughts which
rarely cross my mind during the day. From wondering if I remembered to coil the
hose to speculating whether week-old chicken casserole has spoiled, distress
comes easily at two o’clock in the morning.

One sleepless night when the rest of the family was away, I
pondered what would happen if raccoons attacked me in my bed. I practically
convinced myself that raccoons had already settled downstairs with some Perry Mason reruns and dicey chicken
casserole.

I decided this would be a good
opportunity to redirect my heebie-jeebies into a preparedness exercise. This felt
productive. It also took the sting out of the fact I was hiding under the
covers from imaginary animals.

Raccoons know instinctively that
the television should not be used as a babysitter, so I figured they would
eventually come looking for me. I would feel persistent tugs on my blanket
until finally my eyes would open to find a nursery of adorable bandits piled in
my bed.

“I’m bored,” one would say. “My tummy hurts, and there’s
nothing to eat in this house,” another would contribute. The thought of this
scene gave me goose bumps, but I wasn’t only worried about the raccoons. Since
survival would depend on my neighbor’s willingness to get involved, I was more
concerned with his impression of me.

You see, if something isn’t fit to wear in public, I wear it
to bed. My neon green stirrup pants, circa 1983, often pair with a ratty
t-shirt from my husband’s pre-marital days. The pants offer a roomy fit since
the elastic in the waistband went brittle. Across the chest of the t-shirt is
printed an outdated message of “available.”

For crimped hair, I sleep with ten miniature braids around
my head. When I really get going on the beauty routine, I apply lotion and put
tube socks on my hands to contain the moisture overnight.

I hoped my neighbor appreciated frugality in nightwear and wouldn’t
get nauseated by the dark side of vanity. My life could one day depend on his
ability to trust me despite appearances. I needed to create a plan, and I was
too nervous to sleep, anyway.

Have you ever seen raccoons in the wild? They waddle. I
probably do, too, so my escape strategy hinged on out-toddling the fastest of
the gang through my garage door to the yard. I imagined the sequence of events
would unfold as follows:

After hearing a woman yell “The raccoons are bored with Perry Mason!” my neighbor would look out
his kitchen window. From sleepy eyes, he would spy the neighbor lady trotting
towards his house, tripping over a garden hose then getting up again.

My pants would surrender to the added weight of caked mud
while tube sock mittens would sabotage every attempt to pull my pants up. I
would arrive at my neighbor’s glass patio doors where he would be standing on
the other side. His lips would mouth “available” while reading my nightshirt. Through
sweat, mud, and ten tiny braids, my eyes would plead into his. He would
naturally question my intentions.

My neighbor would assess the situation then his mythology
training would kick in. To avoid being turned to stone, he would attempt to
look away from who appeared to be Medusa.

At this point, there is a fork in my fantasy road. Perhaps
my neighbor would provide refuge in such a situation or maybe the whole thing
would just confirm his suspicions that the neighbor lady really is nuts. I fell
asleep before visualizing the outcome.

The next morning, I found our television blaring and the
refrigerator door open. I noticed a muddy trail from my yard leading to a soccer-ball-sized
rock resting against my neighbor’s back door.

Many tips can be gleaned from that restless night, such as:
wear decent nightclothes, discard old chicken casserole, and put the hose away
after each use. More importantly, though, get to know the neighbors so they are
willing to help when bizarre stuff happens.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

I had quite a collection of blue jeans with holey knees. It was time to re-purpose a few of them!I grabbed a curtain rod and glued some red ribbon to it.Then I cut the jeans at approximately the same lengths. The curtain rod was threaded through the belt loops of the jeans. Finally, I tied the curtain rod to shelf brackets.

The pockets come in handy for storing odds and ends.

Here is how the whole thing looks:

The
parts of the jeans I cut off are still being stored.

Isn't denim great?
You never know when even the smallest bit of it will come in handy.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

I post these essays on my blog a few weeks after each one is released. The publishers get first dibs. :)

If you would like to see "Neighborberry" in your local paper/website, please tell the editor to email me at kris@lslneighbors.com. Thanks so much!

Where bobble heads reign (released 7/19/13)

By Kris Kolk

My family hosted a yard sale last week. We outwitted spiders
and bugs to unearth treasures from the basement. For a few days the house was a
frenzied prep zone.

“Sell it all,” was our mantra. My son’s wardrobe got sucked
into the fervor. We priced most of his fresh laundry before realizing our
mistake.

“If it’s nice, it gets a price,” his siblings and I jingled
in unison as he sheltered t-shirts, boxers, and jeans from his
yard-sale-possessed family.

While getting change, I told the tellers about our upcoming
sale. One of them gave me a sympathetic half-smile. I initially interpreted it
as “better you than me,” but shrugged it off. Our till was counted and put into
a powder blue plastic toy tackle box, our cash register.

Exhaustion led to giddiness. We were too excited to go to
bed at a decent hour on Sale Eve. Clothes were hung. Goods were priced. A stash
of empty grocery bags was ready for customers’ loot. We wondered if we forgot
any details.

The advertisement listed our hours as seven o’clock until
noon. We expected early bird shoppers and agreed on a store policy: sell stuff
no matter what the time.

We merchandised in pre-dawn dew. Tables almost buckled under
the weight of our inventory. We hung clothes on a rope. A stepladder offered
belts, shoes, and purses at a variety of heights.

“No early birds yet,” I said, grateful to prepare without
distractions. By opening time, a parade of cars started on our street.

Almost every potential customer slowed their car to window
shop from the comfort of a front seat. More often than not, the car accelerated
and left. We were tired and sweaty and discouraged, too.

I began hoping for just one sale. The kids worked so hard.
Our house had been in sale mode for three days and was still a huge mess. Was
it all worth it? I was beginning to wonder.

Then a family arrived. Kids poured from the van like clowns
from a miniature car. I lost track of how many there were; but one thing was
certain: they wanted toys. My kids’ faces glowed as their favorite things were
once again appreciated.

These young customers were savvy negotiators. It became
apparent that none of them intended on paying full price. Their parents stood
behind them, beaming as their offspring were successful in getting discounts
just for being so darned cute. I was grateful one car finally stopped, and it
felt good to put some quarters in the tackle box.

There was a trickle of customers after that. One man paid us
in a fifty-cent piece. I don’t think my kids were impressed but I was excited.
Shoppers wanted jewelry, bobble heads and stadium cups, none of which our
establishment offered.

We packed leftovers in our pick-up for delivery to the
donation drop. Then the most surprising thing happened: swarms of customers
arrived. Just as early birds want first dibs at the good stuff, people who
arrive after the sale want deals.

I regret allowing the latecomers to peruse what we had
already packed. There was a pillaging spirit about them as they ravaged boxes
in the hull of our truck while searching for booty. Though they didn’t buy
anything, I was relieved when the ransacking concluded.

Our profit was a mere $15. It sounds like it wasn’t worth
it; but we did get some of the basement clean, made a substantial donation, and
had fun. As we were enjoying our reward of take-out pizzas, my son entered the
room. For one moment, I thought I heard a DJ scratching a turntable.

Monday, August 12, 2013

My kids kept reminding me about the time I was making chicken nachos the night the tornado sirens blared. We all headed to the basement and had to delay dinner. I guess the kids now associate chicken nachos with tornadoes.

They keep saying, "Make that tornado chicken again."All you need is some cooked chicken, spices and nacho stuff, of course.After we had the baked chicken the other night, I put a few leftover cooked chicken breasts in the freezer.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

I post these essays on my blog a few weeks after each one is released. The publishers get first dibs. :)

If you would like to see "Neighborberry" in your local paper/website, please tell the editor to email me at kris@lslneighbors.com. Thanks so much!

Porches bring back whoopee (released 7/12/13)

After decades of deprivation, residents have had it. It
might not be a violent uprising, but this revolution should not be underestimated.

“Who stole my porch?” people are asking as front doors swing
open across the nation.

Porches have always been a good idea; it’s just that we
forgot this fact for a few years. Make the lemonade, baby. Porch living is
back. We just may have to improvise a bit.

Humans have a need to interact. Jobs and T-ball kept us
preoccupied for while; so we didn’t realize porches had been gradually fading
from our social landscape. Nowadays, many of us live behind stoops.

The porch offers us an opportunity to have a good time
without much commitment. There is no need to have the house clean before
socializing and no need to check the calendar ahead of time. It’s spontaneous.
This outdoor parlor is always in the mood for company.

Porches allow us to be semi-social while keeping one foot
inside our comfort zones. When on the porch, we invite others to have a “sit” and chat
a while.Though, as quickly as it
materializes, the visit may conclude. Everyone can retreat to their homes and
check email. This lifestyle is the best of all worlds.

My grandparents lived on a dead-end street and would
people-watch from their front porch while sitting on the flowered vinyl
cushions of their outdoor white furniture. Only 10 homes lined their gravel
road, and they had to identify every driver on it.

“What car is that?” Grandpa would ask. They would both lean
forward to get a better look.

“It’s Ron coming home from work,” Grandma would answer, and
then they would relax back into those vinyl pillows which emitted loud whoopee
cushion noises. That furniture provided an orchestra of sounds so offensive; it
could send a lunchroom of second graders into giggle spasms.

My other grandmother had a wrap-around porch with no
railings. It often became a stage, perfect for putting on a make-believe tap
dance show. A cherry tree grew in front and draped its branches onto stage
left. It didn’t discriminate against bratty pretend dancers. Low hanging fruit
was offered in abundance to everyone.

My mother-in-law’s sturdy bungalow porch was a playroom for
her kids and then, later, for her grandkids. It was a convenient spill-over
area when the living room became over capacity and also offered ample seating
to an aged, yet vocal, hopscotch audience.

Our first home as a married couple had a solid concrete
porch covered with indoor/outdoor carpeting. We could dangle our legs over the
edge without touching ground. We lived on a corner, so there were many
neighbors to greet as they took evening strolls. It was also an opportune spot
from which to leap and chase the ice cream truck.

Some porches face boring cul-de-sacs while the real action
is on a main road near the backyard. In that case, a rear deck can serve as a
neighborly perch. It’s close to the bar-be-cue grill, too.

Though porches have been eliminated from blueprints for
quite a while, the good news is that porch sitting always finds a way. Those
who want to watch the world go by will not be deterred.Many of them sit in open garages. This
arrangement works fine as does a lawn chair in the front yard. Just being
visible and open to socializing is all that’s needed.

Though I don’t have a porch, I am thankful they are in
fashion again. I can make do with my concrete front stoop.

The kids in my care ranged from 1 1/2 to 3 years old. No matter what is being served, please make sure to cut foods into small pieces so little ones don't choke! I always erred on the side of too small. I worry. Can't help it.

The meats I used are lunch meat unless otherwise noted.

Also, run every food by the parents before getting into a menu routine. Of course you need to know about allergies, but if the baby hasn't had blueberries yet, for example, you don't want to serve them.

Also, you probably want the kids to try new foods at home (in case of issues). Same goes with medications. Don't give the first dose. Let baby's mom do that. :)Missouri didn't require me to be licensed, so my meal plans don't follow any specific nutritional guidelines. Of course, I tried to keep things healthy, though!

My meals plans also include suppers for my family which *may* include some convenience foods.

Hey. Cut me some slack, Jack. It's not easy to run a daycare, have a family AND cook everything from scratch!

OK...one more note I'm adding since this posted: I think I will back-date the upcoming daycare posts and put them all under the "daycare" tab above. This is so that the daycare topic doesn't take forever to accumulate and so that the topic of daycare won't hog my content stream. My readers can just go to the tab if they're interested.

Yes, that's what I'll do. Thanks for being patient while I sorted it all out.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

I buy those three-pound bags of frozen chicken breasts. It's the best deal, isn't it? I think it is.Anyway, here is my recipe for baked Panko chicken.Baked Panko ChickenIngredients:3 pounds of thawed boneless chicken breasts1/2 stick butter, melted1 cup Panko breadcrumbs salt and pepper1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper1 teaspoon garlic powderDirections:Preheat oven to 450 degrees.Butter a 9 x 13 pan. Place chicken in the pan and drizzle butter over the top.Mix the Panko and spices.Sprinkle over the top of the chicken breasts.Bake for about 30 minutes or until done. (Chicken is done at 165 degrees.)

Monday, August 5, 2013

If you visited me, I would probably do something lame like serve chocolate kisses from a plastic ice cream dish. It's not fancy or showy, but really, would you complain?

If you popped in on me right now, you would notice that...

1. We have the air conditioning off, so it's a bit sticky.

2. School supplies are everywhere.

3. Little Weirdo is confined to the kitchen because of his pee-pee issues.

4. Mr. Cool is conked out on a pile of people blankets because he got so much fresh air this afternoon.

5. My pizza pans are still soaking from last night.

6. One of my drummer boys is practicing. WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU.

7. We have a collection of miniature flash lights on our hutch. I don't know where they came from.

8. I have chicken "brining" aka thawing for supper tonight.

9. I baked yesterday and could offer you a blondie and/or a sugar cookie bar...with icing!

10. My husband's project is on the coffee table. It involves poster board and sheet metal. I nod a lot but don't really understand what he's doing.

11. We have baby gates and no baby. We are nervous about Mr. Cool using stairs. Even though his back legs are better now, we block off risky areas.

12. Beagles love to bark. Sorry again about the noise.

I know a lot of bloggers lead you to believe they have it all together. I really doubt it. I have NEVER hit that magical day when motherhood, home decor, fashion, and cuisine meshed beautifully. Heck, most of the time I can't even master one of those.

But that's OK.

We aren't perfect and don't care to be. It's more fun to be messy and noisy.

Whoever started these competitions about having the best (fill in the blank) or the most enviable (fill in the blank) or the cleanest...or prettiest...or most effective (fill in the blanks), well, that person is a great big meanie.

The whole mindset of perfection has contributed to women distancing themselves from one another. It's a sad, sad shame.

We need to get over it. Those big meanies can just go wash mini blinds all day.

Ingredients:8 pork loin or rib chops 1 onion, chopped1/2 cup packed brown sugar1/2 cup catsup Directions:Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place the pork in an ungreased 9 x 13 pan. Salt the meat if you like (I don't do this anymore).Stir together the onion, brown sugar and catsup.Place a dollop of the mixture on each chop.

Cover with foil.Bake for 30 minutes.Remove foil. Spoon some sauce (from the bottom of pan) over the chops.Bake for another 30 minutes or until done. I like this recipe because I don't have to do anything with the meat ahead of time. You don't have to cut it, beat it with a mallet or watch baseball with it.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

I'm going to start posting these essays on my blog a few weeks after each one is released. The publishers get first dibs. :)

If you would like to see "Neighborberry" in your local paper/website, please tell the editor to email me at kris@lslneighbors.com. Thanks so much!

It is party time (released 7/5/13)

By Kris Kolk

Someone should get the ball rolling and be neighborly. It
might as well be you. If you feel your home isn’t presentable enough for
company, try these tips.

“Do I get the grand tour?” a guest might inquire upon
arriving. If such a notion gives you twitches, just lie. You may want to
rehearse your lines before the party.

“I would love to show you the bedroom, but my boa
constrictors, Wilma and Leon, don’t fancy strangers,” you could say. Practice
making sweeping motions with your arms to shepherd the nosy one into what you
term “the safe part of the house.”

Perhaps you have a bathtub full of something you don’t want
others to see, such as dirty dishes or Donny and Marie fan club memorabilia.
Just dump those unmentionables into laundry baskets. Shove the baskets in the
bedroom with Wilma and Leon. Define this as “organization” and feel good about
the day.

Before hosting a party, my grandmother would wash, line-dry
and iron her kitchen curtains. As a new bride, I caught myself doing the same
thing. Grandma and I shared a chuckle about it. Nowadays, I just smack the top-layer
dust out of the curtains with a dishrag.

Has paint peeled and left a 4-foot by 3-foot patch in the
shape of The Ukraine on your living room wall? Cover it with construction paper
and have the kids draw on it. Tell your guests it would break your heart to
remove this precious artwork.

It astounded me to hear that
other people clean a few days in advance of a party. When my kids were young, I would tidy all
day; but it always looked like a giant had been shaking our home as if it were
a doll house. Pillows and blankets would appear in front of the television.
Measuring cups and mixing bowls would be discovered in the baby’s room.
Miniature fighter jets would wage wars in my underwear drawer. Though I am not
a fan of “ahead of time,” some chores, such as cleaning the refrigerator, are
best tackled prior to a gathering.

“Here. I brought you this 36-inch chocolate chip
cheesecake,” your friend offers. “You might want to stick it in the fridge
until we’re ready for dessert.” It is such a bittersweet moment when a guest
contributes something chilled and decadent but also bigger than your pool.

Another help is to put away all the everyday dishes before
the get-together. Clean. Dirty. Clean. Dirty. It’s the dishwasher circle of
life. But when a party is afoot, an empty dishwasher can save your sanity.

After Thanksgiving dinner at my home, the dishwasher was
busy washing sippy cups and cereal bowls. In the meantime, cranberry relish and
turkey gravy hardened on 45 stuck-together plates. As pie was served, Grandpa
tried to trade his great-granddaughter a cigarette for her clean fork.

Here’s another do-ahead tip: clean in and around your
furniture. Just as soon as a guest gets out a pacifier for the baby, she drops
it somewhere deep, dark and scary: under the cushions.

“Let’s move the furniture and look!” a booming voice
proclaims while the baby shrieks. You witness in horror four men and an
eight-year-old boy lift your couch. Unveiled is a well-established, thriving
eco-system of dead and undead bugs, broken crayons, loner socks, fuzzy potato
chips—and one pacifier. The scene is so ghastly, the baby stops crying. Her mouth
falls agape.

Everyone has areas of their home in need of cleaning or renovation.
So what? Confront these insecurities with a sense of humor and dedication to
the neighborly crusade. You have the right to share life with friends and
family in your own home!

Now, all that’s left to do is poop-scoop the front yard and
turn on the one porch light that still works. Be neighborly. Not perfect.

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Please use good judgment when attempting projects and recipes (food or otherwise) found on neighborsabouttown.blogspot.com.

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Though Neighbors About Town is not responsible for any accidents or adverse circumstances resulting from content or links found on neighborsabouttown.blogspot.com, I sincerely hope readers find it useful and entertaining within the realms of common sense.